


Sensory Deprivation

by squishyturtlefuckfics



Series: Kinktober 2019 - Squishyturtlefuckfics [3]
Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Blindfolds, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Cock Rings, Dubious Consent, Finger Sucking, Gags, M/M, Rope Bondage, Sensory Deprivation, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-23 00:57:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishyturtlefuckfics/pseuds/squishyturtlefuckfics
Summary: Splinter has a new training regimen, and it's just for Michelangelo.Day 3 of Kinktober 2019





	Sensory Deprivation

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 contains splintercest, bondage, and dubious consent.

Training had been quieter recently.

That would be an understatement, to say the least. Everything about it was far more fulfilling. Far more controlled. They'd started on time every morning, and had easily been able to make up for hours worth of time lost to errant fooling around. His students were more focused, and by far the most motivated he'd seen them for a long while.

Yes, Splinter muses, watching his sons run through their kata at peak performance. Sharp movements, no delay, strong form. Better than he could have ever imagined.

This was perfect.

He motions with an arm, and with a swift bark of Japanese he brings them all together. Lined up before him, he can see the way their eyes burn, the way their muscles glisten with sweat. A good session.

He steps forward, a smile on his lips.

"Excellent work, my sons," he addresses them, looking over the three of them in admiration. They had truly earned their rest for today. "You have all made great strides in the past few days. I could not be more proud."

There's a gentle murmur, smiles pressing onto their beaks. Splinter chuckles, tapping his staff to the ground. "You are dismissed for today. Go. You may relax."

He watches them scurry away, then turns, walking toward his room.

It's dark as he slides open the door, the lights and candles spotted around the space dimmed entirely. Splinter enjoyed the dark, the warmth and solitude it brought him. A scarcity nowadays.

But that wasn't the only reason.

Trussed up in the centre of his room sits Michelangelo, almost hidden by the deep shadows of his room. Splinter smirks as he slides his door shut, trusting his sons to not disturb him, and approaches the bound turtle, eyes wandering over his exposed body.

He's tied to a chair, thick ropes laced around each of his limbs and coiled around his chest. The knots are tight, a traditional style he'd taught his sons years before. Too solid to loosen by accident. A thick, black leather blindfold rests over his beak, matched by a pair of noise-cancelling headphones. His mouth is parted by a black ball-gag, saliva dribbling trailing down his chin. A wooden table stands nearby, holding a single, half-empty glass of water, but the space is otherwise free from hazard.

Splinter loosens his robes, watching his son's steady breathing. A gentle rise and fall of his chest. Uncharacteristically calm of the youngest.

He leans down, wrapping his hand around the turtle's exposed cock, keeping his eyes trained on Michelangelo's face as his nerves kick into gear.

In a flash, the calm is entirely shattered. Michelangelo's chest heaves once, twice, and then a third time before the turtle lets out a loud whine. Once still limbs are shaking, rattling against the arms of the chair he's bound to, pulling and tugging desperately at the rope digging into his skin.

Splinter listens to it all with a gentle smile, slowly working his fingers up the length of his son's erection, pausing once he reaches the tip. It's sticky, a stream of pre bubbling where his digits rest, though nothing to suggest a completed orgasm.

"That's a good boy," he says softly, though of course Michelangelo can't hear him. He just keeps squirming in his binds, whining through his gag, saliva pooling at the base of his chin.

Discarding his robe, Splinter rises, fishing out his own erection as he walks towards his drawers. He slides one open, humming idly as he rummages through it, pulling out three items and setting them to the side as he shuts the door: a cock-ring, a bottle of lube, and a thick sex toy.

Then he’s pacing back toward the turtle, items in hand, eyes hovering hungrily over him as he writhes in his binds. He waits, stroking his cock as Michelangelo begins to calm, as his mind settles back into the blanket out of darkness, as his squirming and mewling melt back into stability.

Splinter makes his move then, kneeling down in front of his son. He grabs Michelangelo’s cock with one hand, chuckling as his son breaks down into an uncontrollable rut once more, and brings the ring up to it with his free hand. Grasping it firmly, Splinter gently slips Michelangelo’s erection through the centre, pushing it down until it reaches the base of his cock.

Content with the fit, he rises, ignoring his son’s incessant struggles as he moves around to the back of the chair. Kneeling again, Splinter squeezes a liberal amount of lube onto his fingers, and reaches under to the specially fitted hole on the seat, feeling around until he finds Michelangelo's entrance. Tight again since he last breached it. No matter.

He slips two fingers inside, gently spreading his son once again. Michelangelo’s whines kick up a notch. The chair rattles, ropes straining ever so slightly against his toned muscles, but Splinter carries on regardless until he’s satisfied.

Pulling out, he instead turns his attention to the toy, similarly lathering it up with lube before pressing the rubbery head between Michelangelo’s cheeks. With a firm push the toy pops inside, earning a strained whine of need from the turtle. Splinter smirks, stroking his cock with one hand whilst the other presses at the base of the toy, claws toying over a little black switch.

He flicks it up and stands behind the chair, draping his arms over Michelangelo’s body as the toys hum and whirr into action. Both the ring and the plug boot into a programmed vibration cycle, custom-designed by Donatello at Splinter’s behest, and it takes mere seconds for their victim to break into a frenzy.

“There we go,” Splinter coos gently, raking his claws up Michelangelo’s shell. His hands rise slowly upwards, fingers dancing up scaly skin until they reach Michelangelo’s face. Splinter smiles, pressing his erection into the back of the chair, watching his son rock back and forth in desperation. “This is the best training I can offer you. I do hope you appreciate it.”

He loosens the gag from Michelangelo’s mouth, dipping his fingers past his lips before he has the chance to speak. His other hand wanders to the wooden table, returning with a glass of warm water. He presses the rim to his son’s lips, tipping the glass upwards and removing his fingers so the turtle can swallow the liquid, giving him just a few seconds before replacing it with his digits once more. He takes the time to explore his son’s mouth whilst he places the glass aside, rolling his fingers over the boy’s tongue and around his gums, humming at the warmth.

Michelangelo sputters, chest heaving, nostrils flaring, but Splinter simply hushes him as he fastens the gag back into his mouth and pulls away, once again leaving his son without warmth or touch.

At the rear end of his room, Splinter slides open the door to his private quarters, stepping through without another look back at his bound, writhing son, as the toys automatically switch to their next loop.


End file.
